The Weak Will Probably Not Inherit the Earth

I was flipping through my big book of George Orwell's collected essays today, and came across his description of Herman Melville. "Whoever is not queasy in the presence of strength will always love Melville," writes Orwell:

"Melville was, it is clear, a man as proud as Lucifer, raging against the gods like his own Ahab...More important than his strength, he had -- what is implied in real strength -- passionate sensitiveness; to him seas were deeper and skies vaster than to other men, and similarly beauty was more actual and pain and humiliation more agonizing."

And then, a little earlier today, I came across this passage from a letter by D.H. Lawrence. It caught my eye for, well, obvious reasons. Lawrence is explaining how he would annihilate society's outcasts:

"If I had my way, I would build a lethal chamber as big as the Crystal Palace, with a military band playing softly, and a Cinematograph working brightly; then I'd go out in the back streets and main streets and bring them in, all the sick, the halt and the maimed; I would lead them gently, and they would smile me a weary thanks; and the band would softly bubble out the 'Hallelujah Chorus'."

Now, this is obviously very sick and demented and awful and pretty much every other adjective you can think of. But that's not what I want to write about. Owell's description of Melville and the Lawrence quote share a similar perspective. It is essentially elitist, contemptuous of weakness and glorifying strength and action. This is a fundamentally better attitude for a writer than today's sentimental hacks, who spend their time agonizing about minutia and finding excuses for every weakness. And it is why writers like Toni Morrison or David Sadaris will never be worthy to do so much as clean Melville's shoes.